


Concerto

by Nestra



Series: Counterpoint [5]
Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Community: help_pakistan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestra/pseuds/Nestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As soon as the words were spoken, Rodney realized that he'd just said the one thing guaranteed to prod John into a reckless, crazy, exhibitionistic act."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerto

**Author's Note:**

> Written for raphe1 as part of help_pakistan. She requested another installment in the Counterpoint universe. Beta by shrift.

"You're pushing the tempo too fast," Rodney said, cutting off in mid-chord.

"No, I'm not."

"Look, new guy--"

New guy stood up, towering over both his cello and Rodney. Rodney shrunk back a little on the piano bench. He had always hated cellists. All string players, really. Smug egoists, charging ahead and assuming the rest of the orchestra had to follow them.

"You're taking it too slow," New Guy said.

"What's your name again? I wasn't paying attention when we were introduced."

"Ronon Dex."

"Great. Ronon. Let me explain how things work around here. I am a world-famous composer and performer. You are the symphony's new first chair cello. I win."

From corner of his eye, Rodney could see John sitting in the fourth row of the concert hall and shaking his head. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that his new piano and cello concerto required a cellist, and turned back to the loomer.

"New guy -- er, Ronon. If the tempo is too fast, the entire movement falls apart. It's the difference between tension and tedium."

Ronon sat back down. "It's still too slow."

"Teyla," Rodney appealed. "You're the conductor. Perhaps you'd like to weigh in on this?"

"I'm not sure you'd like what I have to say, Rodney. I will set the tempo in the orchestral sections, but for these solo passages, you and Ronon need to work it out."

Rodney opened his mouth to complain, but Teyla, clearly sensing the tantrum that was to come, jumped in.

"Let's take a break, everyone," Teyla said. "We will continue with the second movement when we return."

There was a general scuffle as everyone shoved back their chairs and laid down their instruments. Rodney turned to John, prepped for venting, but John was out of his seat and standing at the edge of the stage.

"Come on, dressing room," he said to Rodney.

The dressing room, in Rodney's opinion, wasn't nearly big enough and lacked a couch for him to stretch out on. With both him and John in it, there wasn't a lot of spare room.

"You need to calm down," John said.

"He's messing it up!"

"You're not that far apart. You've got a rehearsal scheduled tomorrow morning -- just use that and get on the same page before the orchestra meets in the afternoon."

Rodney dropped into the wobbly chair in front of the mirror.

"Deep breath," John advised.

Rodney felt that merited a glare, but when John just glared right back, he took a deep breath, let it fill his lungs, then blew it out.

John pulled the other chair up so close that when he sat down, their knees bumped. "Better?"

"No," Rodney said.

John swatted him on the leg. "Liar."

"Fine. Maybe a little better."

Outside the door, he could hear the other musicians moving around, chattering. Probably gossiping about him, since he wouldn't put petty jealousy past any of them. He hadn't witnessed this much backstabbing since the last time John had made him watch an episode of Desperate Housewives.

"You remember the time--" John gestured around the room and waggled his eyebrows.

"The time that I gave you a blow job in a dressing room? Of course I remember. My memory is much better than yours."

"I could return the favor."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"You, you wouldn't dare." As soon as the words were spoken, Rodney realized that he'd just said the one thing guaranteed to prod John into a reckless, crazy, exhibitionistic act.

"Oh, my god," Rodney said disbelievingly as John slowly shoved back his chair and sunk to his knees. "Did you lock the door? Tell me you locked the door."

John eased Rodney's zipper down so slowly that he could feel each separate tooth popping out.

"John--"

"Yes, I locked the door. You should probably shut up now."

As John freed his cock from his pants, Rodney dug his fingernails into the cheap plastic armrests. John's mouth was unbelievably hot, and though only moments ago, Rodney had been so mad that he couldn't think, all of that energy was transmuted into arousal. He was so hard that the touch of John's tongue almost hurt.

He shoved a hand into John's hair, and John let him pull his head closer, further down. He could hear John breathing hard through his nose as he sucked Rodney's cock. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps outside the door. He could hear John moan in the back of his throat like he was nothing but hungry.

John took care of him with each slow drag, gentle except when he wasn't, and the slight touch of teeth made Rodney twitch in his chair. He wished they were at home, with room to spread out on a bed and all the time in the world, time enough for John to tease him, maybe even make him beg and curse.

They had maybe five minutes left, though, before the break was over and someone came knocking on the door, and even as that thought crossed his mind, John pulled back a little and rubbed the flat of his tongue against the head of Rodney's cock.

Rodney stifled a groan and tried to spread his legs a little more, the fabric of his pants digging into his hips. John pressed his fingers against the seam, rubbing under his cock and lower, and it wasn't enough, not what he really wanted, but it was good enough to send a jolt through him and push him up to the edge. John took him deep again and tipped him over, and as he came, Rodney let his grip on John's shoulders tighten just a little too much, wanting to know that the ache would linger while John was sitting out there in the audience and watching Rodney play.

John pulled off and swiped at the corners of his mouth with his thumb. Rodney handed him a kleenex from the box on the table.

"Um," Rodney said. "Thanks."

"No problem," John replied, bracing himself on Rodney's knees and maneuvering to his feet.

"I'll, you know," he gestured at John's crotch, "later."

"I know." He leaned down for a kiss, and Rodney sighed into it, calmer than he'd been, but wound up for a whole different reason. Even the knock on the dressing room door couldn't startle him out of either feeling.

"Go," John said. "Play nice."

"On the piano or with Ronon?" Rodney let John grab his hand and pull him up out of the chair, clutching at his pants so they wouldn't fall down.

"You might not want to mess with him. Teyla says he's into martial arts."

"Oh, that's just great," Rodney groused, looking down to make sure he was presentable. "You're going to make friends with my new mortal enemy."

John swatted his ass as Rodney opened the door. "Quit exaggerating. Make a compromise on the tempo."

"Yes, fine. But the faster I play, the sooner we can get home." He looked over his shoulder to see John stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, a smile quirking his mouth.

"Forget the compromise. I'm sure you can take him in a fair fight."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rodney said. "You should know I don't fight fair."


End file.
